


Frankincense and Gold

by leotart



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 06:09:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11178696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leotart/pseuds/leotart
Summary: 1977. After a series of unfortunate events Robert Plant decides to start a new life in the USA and moves from London to Los Angeles. There he meets a weary record store employee named Jimmy Page, which doesn't seem like a coincidence.





	Frankincense and Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sodium_amytal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/gifts).
  * A translation of [Золото и Ладан](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10891356) by [leotart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leotart/pseuds/leotart). 



> I'd like to dedicacte this fic to Kira, whom i admire and whose art and writing inspire me endlessly. Her "The Road So Far" became a fandom of its own to me, and the following fic is a prequel to it. The title and the epigraph were taken from a song "Zoloto i Ladan" by russian rock-group Mumiy Troll, which i translated myself.

_You and I - we are both in the answer_  
_For the color of our sun,_  
_For where the wind blows._  
_You and I - crystal-clear glances,_  
_Breathe me while I'm around,_  
_Frankincense and Gold._

White, as if made of paper, seagull-shapes cut through grey English sky, crying. It’s not quite clear, whether it’s drizzling with rain, or tiny drops of mist just hang in the air, but then again – that’s how it usually is. The pier is crowded with those who are casting off across the pond and their relatives, friends and loved ones who came to say goodbye.

“I still don’t get why I can’t simply take a plane. It would be way faster, not to mention, much cheaper,” Robert says.

“What if your plane crashes? I thought I lost you once. I won’t survive if anything ever happens to you…” Mrs. Plant answers in a broken voice.

“Ships sink, ya know,” Maureen’s wry comment is slightly muffled by the warm, colorful multi-wrapped scarf covering the lower half of her russet face. Mrs. Plant stares at her with terrified watery eyes, as the giant handkerchief – bearing more resemblance to a checkered tablecloth – is already being prepared for new outburst of crying.

“Mum, it’s gonna be fine. You know, I’m a top-notch swimmer,” Robert assures her, and frowns at Maureen. “There’s still time. Let’s step away for a tête-à-tête, shall we?” He looks back at his mother. “Mum, we’re not gonna be long. Please, don’t cry. Or do, if it makes you feel better…”

He leads Maureen a few steps further from their spot. “You absolutely had to do it, hadn’t you? Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to calm her down?”

“M’sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” Maureen says, glancing away.

“You joke because you’re angry, and you’re angry, ‘cause you’re sad. It’s your way of coping.”

“You know, what I’m _not_ gonna miss though?” She lifts a gaze of her dark eyes at him. “Your uncalled-for psychoanalysis.”

“It’s not psychoanalysis, when it’s obvious.”

“I believe it was you who told me, not everything that is obvious should be said out loud.” A brief moment of awkward silence follows her words. Maureen continues after a sigh. “You also told me about that feeling you get when you look to the West, when your spirit is crying for leaving.”

“You remember?” A slight pink flush creeps into Robert’s cheeks.

“Of course,” she pauses, searching for words. “But Robert… do you really think, it will all be different in the States? You’ll be on your own there, while here you have your family, your mates…”

“The family I broke. Of all the mates I’ve had you’re the only one who haven’t turn your back on me, which I appreciate greatly, but I can’t overstay your welcome any longer. I wanna try to make it in the New World.”

“We could…” Maureen says in near whisper “…get married. It would make everything easier.”

Robert looks at her with pain and sympathy. “You know, I love you, Maureen, with all my heart, but you’re like a sister to me.”

Maureen’s eyes glisten with tears. “I know, you can’t return my feelings for you, and I know you’ll never love me the way I… the way I love you, but… I’m not asking you to. Just stay.”

“I can’t. Sorry, love.” Robert hugs her tight, kissing her long black wavy hair. “Thank you. For everything.”

Mrs. Plant, who’s standing not far from them, blows her nose into her checkered tablecloth in a deliberate manner. Maureen frees herself from Robert’s embrace, wipes away the tears and tries to put on a smile. Robert shifts his gaze from her to his mother. “This looks like some sodding biblical scene. I’m not being crucified. I’m only going to America.”

Maureen laughs. “Are you suggesting I’m a slag?” 

“Oh, I’m awfully sorry. I meant nothing of the sort.”

“Shave that ridiculous beard of yours already. Ian Gillan didn’t have one when he sang on that record.” Robert chuckles, stroking his moustache and goatee unconsciously. Maureen continues with her teasing. “You sing better than him anyway. And maybe, if you shave it, you’ll finally get laid.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Promise, you’ll write to me,” Mrs. Plant cuts in, not able to bear her isolation anymore.

“Cross my heart, Mumsie! I’ll write, and I will send postcards from every new place I’ll visit, and I’ll call you as soon as I find a phone.”

Robert hugs his mother, and then Maureen who whispers in his ear: “You know what I’m definitely not gonna miss? Your habit of eating all the food in our house.” Robert wants to protest: _"I was the one who cooked it!"_ , but he just smiles instead.

He takes his small suitcase – inappropriately light for a transcontinental travel – and climbs on board of his ship. Robert can see his two favorite women in the whole world clinging to each other tightly and waving at him; mum with her ridiculous sheet, and Maureen with the rim of her scarf. He can barely see their faces now, but he really hopes they don’t cry, although he knows, it’s inevitable. He waves at them until they fade away into the misty horizon of the English shore.

Robert could never stay blue for long. He just isn’t cut out that way. He taught himself to live in the present and cherish every fleeting moment for an amazing uniqueness of it. After settling in his cabin, Robert climbs up to the deck; by that time they’re already in the open sea, and Robert can observe the endless azure of two osculating forces of nature. He’s completely blown away by the greatness of that sight. Leaning on the railing, he watches the waves breaking over the broadside of the ship for some time. Sea breeze ruffles his mane of golden curls, as Robert notices a pod of dolphins jumping out of the water near the rostrum every now and again. He decides to move closer. There’s some kind of a small viewing point surrounded by a steel safety railing in the nose part of the deck, and Robert is pulled to it. He stands there, like some kind of figurehead nymph, his wild curls billow from increasing wind, as the ship speeds up, and following a sudden urge Robert spreads his arms like wings and closes his eyes, as if he wishes to melt into the feeling of freedom and space around him. He wants to sing and a few lines from _“Tommy”_ by the Who come to his mind.

_You feel me coming, a new vibration. From afar you’ll see me, I’m a sensation. I’m a sensation!_

Robert opens his eyes and looks around in worry. He wonders why he had never noticed how vulgar can these lyrics appear, and whether he sang them out loud. But it seems no one heard him, apart from the seagulls and the dolphins. Robert’s nerves settle. His thoughts start to wander off again. He imagines himself as some kind of a Viking warrior sailing to conquer a new land. Maybe, Maureen was right, and he really should shave that beard.

***

Robert has never seen so much sunlight in his life. Despite popular belief, England isn’t always dreary and gloomy, there are sunny days, even hot ones, but California sun is something completely different. In its light Robert feels himself becoming someone else.

He’s just spent his last money on a bottle of sunscreen, and is now walking down the street, craning his neck to stare at the palm trees; it sure is a miracle that he isn’t hit by any of the roller girls passing him by.

He’s on his way to get a job. Of course, he knows a few certain ways to earn a coin (exactly the ones that allowed him to save up a sum required for moving), but he wants to start everything from scratch in the New World. Robert is a man of many talents, and he could be anyone he wants, but the back pocket of his impossibly tight blue jeans contains a folded newspaper with an encircled ad which reads _“cook wanted”._

He needs a job as soon as possible, because his recent (absolutely necessary) drug store purchase left him with literally no money. A plane ticket would be way cheaper than a trip across the ocean, but Robert couldn’t deny his mother’s request. Surely, he could stay in New York and finally check out all those clubs and see all those musicals, but the West Coast has always been much more appealing to him. He couldn’t choose between San Francisco and Los Angeles, so he flipped his last English penny. And the Queen herself told him to go to the City of Angels.

Robert shaved his beard and moustache first thing upon arrival, and shortly after that called his Mum from a public phone as was promised; she begged him again not to go by plane. Mrs. Plant hardly had any control over her son’s movements, but Robert always kept his word. He crossed the country by train, and although he really had neither time, nor money for entertainment, he liked the ever changing picturesque views outside the windows and enjoyed making new friends along the way.

Total lack of finance doesn’t bother Robert. He knows he’ll find a job. If they turn him down in one place, something else will always come up. He’ll be all right regardless. He’d seen worse at home, and he had always found his way out, if not in one piece than at least always alive. Instead of breaking him, his misfortunes have only made him stronger.

Besides, it’s not as if Robert will have to sleep rough (although, the hot weather makes it hardly a problem) – he was actually able to find a decent enough apartment. One could probably refer to it as a shithole, but Robert strongly believes that there is nothing that could not be fixed with a proper re-decoration.

Thus, Robert’s in a pretty good mood, striding along the streets of Los Angeles, squinting at the brightness of the glaring sun beams, and humming some out of the blue tune that he can’t really place, when he comes across an amazingly huge record store.

The store’s name, _Swan Song_ , strikes Robert with both beauty and tragic symbolism. Robert could never just pass by a record store, especially as gigantic as this one. He slightly alternates his route to come near a wide glass window and take a closer look at some records shown on display.

However, Robert doesn’t get a chance to have a proper viewing, as his attention is immediately caught by the man behind the counter. He’s facing Robert, but he doesn’t see him, because he’s completely submerged into studying the back cover sleeve of some album he’s holding. Fingers of his free hand are absent-mindedly raked into his slightly tousled shoulder-length black curls, and Robert is inexplicably transfixed by the gesture. And in the same way he is inexplicably transfixed by the stranger himself. Deep shadows under his eyes imply that he might not been getting proper sleep for years. It also seems like he hasn’t had a proper meal for about the same time; his cheeks are sunken in, his cheekbones and chin could probably be used to cut glass, and his arms that are sticking out of the sleeves of his t-shirt with a mod’s target on it (Robert saves that information for later) are pretty much the same width all the way from its wrists and to its shoulders. He’s strangely pale for Los Angeles – he seems even paler than Robert himself who came from the land of ice and snow. A man can look like that only if he avoids sunlight deliberately, or has a primarily nocturnal nature. Despite his weary appearance, Robert finds the guy strangely attractive. His features are unusual, delicate and beautiful, and there’s a touch of something from long gone Old World’s eras in his face; although, it’s hardly noticeable under his three day’s stubble. The sight of the stranger’s broody shoulders and protruding hip bones ignite some sort of a warm glow that starts spreading inside Robert’s chest.

Robert forgets where he was heading to and what for, completely absorbed by ogling the stranger, when the fellow lifts his eyes from the record and meets Robert’s gaze. Robert quickly glances down and pretends he’s really interested in the new Bowie album on display. Right before that he managed to notice the guy has dark green eyes, and their look stroke Robert with sadness. Robert waits for a little bit before looking up again only to find out that a new character has appeared on the stage. He seems huge even as he is, let alone in comparison to the skinny guy behind the counter. Robert never understood how such people manage to find fitting clothes, which made him sympathize with them. Despite newcomer’s monstrous size and rugged features, half of which is covered by a thick beard, he has rather balanced appearance. He might even considered as being stylish – multicolored clothes, playful muffler on his huge neck, a golden earring and multiple rings adorning his bulky fingers. It is apparent by the way he is yelling at the dark-haired shopkeeper that he is extremely displeased with something, or more likely with someone. Robert feels like he can actually hear muffled sounds of scolding through thick glass. The guy seems to receive such treatment stoically. He calmly waits until big guy’s rage runs its course, but it doesn’t happen. On the contrary, after every short (but obviously poignant) answer coming from the guy’s lips, a bully seems to be getting even more steamed up. Finally he stops his scolding and disappears from Robert’s sight. Robert is afraid of being caught peeping, so he looks back at a mannequin-like Bowie on the album cover.

A moment later Robert hears the door bell ringing. He follows the sound and realizes that the same shopkeeper is now trying to light a cigarette with trembling hands merely a few feet away from him. All of a sudden it dawns on Robert that it actually hadn’t been easy for the guy to remain cool, calm and collected, as he evidently tries to put himself back together here. He’s pulling on his cigarette with the gust of a chain-smoker (Robert watches the way his lips pout) and exhales billows of smoke from his nostrils. Ringlets of black fringe cover his eyes almost completely, and at that moment Robert realizes who’s the guy reminding him of. They’re not much alike, of course, but there’s some sort of a subtle resemblance. The one person who looked just as lost and far-out was Syd Barrett, whose last concert Robert was lucky to attend.

“What are you looking at?” The shopkeeper asks. An appropriate question indeed. Robert notices the name tag on his chest. It reads _“Jimmy”._

“Erm… I wasn’t…” Robert panics, attempting to find anything in their surroundings that would justify his highly undue behavior. And then – thank goodness! – stuck to the door behind the guy’s back he notices a _“shopkeeper wanted”_ flyer. “You’re recruiting, am I right?”

Jimmy drags on his fag again and gives him a skeptical once-over, his eyes impossibly narrow (does he even see anything?). “Where did _you_ come from, Oz?” he says with a smirk.

“No, I’m from London. England.” Robert clarifies just in case.

Jimmy’s expression darkens momentarily, as if he has heard that Robert’s just got out of prison or even worse. He mumbles incoherently under his breath (although it sounds a lot like “Christ on a bike, you just keep coming here, don’t you?”), finishes his cigarette in a few hasty drags and throws the blunt on the concrete, stepping on it with the heel oh his shoe. He opens the door, waking up the bell, but doesn’t hurry inside, as he turns his head in Robert’s direction. “Are you coming or what?”

Robert willingly steps into the record store, still having troubles believing in what he’s just heard. The magnificent sight of endless rows of records takes his breath away. Robert has never worked in a record store before and never really thought about it, but he’s not against by the idea (he digs music, there’s no doubt in that), it might even be fun. Surely, he had different plans for today, but who cares; this is obviously not a coincidence. If he’s being completely honest, he doesn’t want to leave Jimmy’s side. Not yet.

Jimmy turns to face Robert, when they reach the counter. “Got a name?”

“Robert Plant.” Robert answers with the most radiant of his smiles and offers Jimmy a hand. Jimmy looks at his wristlets and rings with fair amount of suspicion, but squeezes Robert’s hand ever so slightly. His fingers are thin, long and stone cold.

“Jimmy Page.” He introduces himself, as he jerks his hand away (too soon, really). “Look, the pay’s not great, but the work is hard.” He gives Robert a few moments to appreciate the joke and continues with faint satisfaction, when he sees a smile spreading across Robert’s lips. “But, you know, what choice do we have? So if you’re ready, you can start right away. There’s been hell here for the last couple of weeks.”

Robert was expecting to be introduced to some sort of higher authority or at least to be interviewed for the job in some way, but that's obviously not happening (not yet, anyway). It is too late to step away, he assumes, and there’s no particular reason for it really.

“Alright,” Robert says, as warm waves of happiness spread across his body.

Jimmy smirks with the corner of his mouth and kicks a huge box of records from under the counter. “Here you go, the new stuff. Arrange it for me, will you? You’ll learn as you go, I guess. And I’ll be here, doing… eh… inventory,” he says, casually dropping into the chair with the fresh issue of _“Rolling Stone”_ and stretching his long thin legs on the counter.

Robert eagerly sorts records by genre, throwing quick glances at Jimmy every once in a while, when the door at the back of the store opens, and a big guy, who was shouting at Jimmy earlier, emerges. Mr. Grant (the supervisor, as Robert learns later) immediately puts up a fight when he finds out that Jimmy has literally just picked up some random guy on the street to do his job for him, but this time Robert has questionable advantage of witnessing his rage first hand. Robert swiftly comes to Jimmy’s defense applying all his charm in order to tame Grant. The latter calms down in mere seconds, melting over Robert’s accent, laughing at his jokes and patting his shoulder, as he’s leading Robert to manager’s office to do the paperwork. Robert turns back for a split-second to notice a grateful smile on Jimmy’s lips.

Half of the day passes by, and Robert finds himself immersed in the store’s routine, as if he’s been working here for at least half a year. It’s not that hard, pretty interesting (seriously, why had he never thought of it?), and he’s officially allowed to stay in Jimmy’s company; what else can one possibly dream of? He learns that Jimmy hates Mr. Grant, Los Angeles, the sun, customers and most part of his job duties. Jimmy doesn’t hate music though (except for disco), and it seems that he doesn’t hate Robert, at least for now. Over the years of forced secrecy Robert learned how to read people, but he can’t figure out what Jimmy actually feels about him, what he sees in him… does he like him?

Jimmy is pleased by the lack of customers, but Robert, who has already arranged all the records, starts to get bored. He couldn’t get Jimmy to talk yet (he’s obviously not the one who opens up so quickly). The bell above the door rings, informing them about a couple of glammed up young girls walking in. At first, Robert glances over them with indifference, but then he remembers that he actually works here now. He puts on a genuine smile, as he walks to greet them. But Jimmy appears from nowhere in front of him and captures the girls’ attention with odd enthusiasm. At that moment Robert realizes he’s been a complete and total idiot. What was he thinking? Of course, Jimmy prefers birds over blokes, like every other guy in Robert’s taste. It’s a cross he’s probably bound to bear for the rest of his life.

“Do you have any of the Yardbirds records?” one of the girls asks with giggling.

Robert can’t see Jimmy’s expression, but the girl’s question is followed by oppressive silence, and it seems like the time has stopped. Jimmy turns around and looks at him. Robert is stricken by the pain in his eyes. But what’s distressing him the most is that he doesn’t know who or what caused it, and most importantly – he doesn’t know how to soothe it.

“Robert, take this one, would you?” Jimmy says dryly, as he walks out of the door, losing all of his previous interest for the girls. He’s followed by improperly joyful door-bell jingle, as he gets a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and takes one in his mouth.

After attending to the girls Robert joins Jimmy outside to find him smoking his third fag in a row. Robert doesn’t want to raise any suspicion, so he borrows a cigarette from Jimmy (he usually doesn’t smoke – well, he does, but not that kind of cigarettes – but desperate times call for desperate measures).

“Is everything all right?” Robert asks cautiously, trying to look into Jimmy’s face covered with curls.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Jimmy answers after a pause, touching his nose with his free hand; Robert finds that slightly childish gesture freakishly adorable. “Never been better.” Something in his voice tells Robert it has been way better.

Jimmy twigs his head to brush the unruly fringe away from his face, and looks at Robert.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like a giant sunflower?” Jimmy doesn’t wait for him to answer and continues. “I’m gonna call you Sunflower.”

“Only if I call you Pagey.” Robert replies with a smile, trying really hard to dim his inner light. He’s never been given such a cute nickname.

Jimmy doesn’t say anything and just smirks. He crushes his last blunt and returns to the store. Robert watches him go, as he extracts the folded newspaper with encircled _“cook wanted”_ ad from the back pocket of his jeans. He ruffles the paper and throws the ball in a nearby trash bin. Then Robert finishes his cigarette off, takes down the _“shopkeeper wanted”_ flyer from the door and goes back inside.


End file.
